


breeding lilacs out of dead land

by milkyway_starboy



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Male Character, Work In Progress, trans courier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29858139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyway_starboy/pseuds/milkyway_starboy
Summary: he's a dead man walking. but if he's walking, he'll make the most of it. maybe he can help some people along the way (and maybe some people can help him, in return).
Relationships: Courier/Original Character (Fallout)
Kudos: 2





	1. goodsprings

**Author's Note:**

> my mans got me into new vegas, n i did that thing i do where i make more of a backstory n narrative than actually canonically exists. th world was too full of possibilities for me t'not get out there n do somethin w em. so. here's trip switch. i'll add tags as i go, rn all i have is th base characters that'll show up n a base outline. i know there'll be smut eventually, but there'll be a lot of feelings before, during, n after. i'm makin notes as i play so hopefully i can write in my down time. enjoy.

he doesn’t remember his name. he doesn’t remember the day, or the month, or the year; he can hardly even remember the alphabet or numbers. doc mitchell tells him to take it easy, and makes up the medical bed with pillows and blankets. the days are scratched lines on the wall. he lays awake at night sometimes counting them, and in the morning, he wakes not knowing what they mean. the doc is always there, throughout it all, a steady presence. where would he be without doc mitchell?

mitchell. mitchell, mitch…

mitch. so close…

s… sw… switch. switch? switch

switchswitchswitch TRIP. trip switch. the thing that causes issues in a machine, tripping over words, switching personalities, trip switch, that’s _him_. he knows who he is. or at least… he thinks he does. he has a name. he can hold onto a name.

the doc decides his progress is ample enough reason to celebrate, so dinner that night is brahmin steak and instamash and fresh carrots from the garden, with a bottle of wine. trip was violently ill later, his dinner lost in the toilet, stained red with his blood. he shakes and shivers and is lost to a sickness for the night. doc mitchell tells him the next day that he’d begged and sobbed all night, though for what, it wasn’t clear.

trip takes the clothes, the caps, the supplies that doc said he’d found on him, all bundled into a black rucksack and tossed over his shoulder. he leaves the house, his solace of months, and squints into the rising sun of the rest of his life.

the town is a respite, an easy stepping stone back into how life is meant to be. tracy chats with him, sells him some fresh water and vegetables, and gives him a radio to fix to keep his hands busy for a few hours. he hangs around goodsprings for another few weeks, but an itch begins to grow under his skin. the man who shot him… what was his name? what did he want? trip has to know, so he asks for help preparing. sunny shows him how to shoot a gun, but it makes him uneasy. the environment shimmers.

_he’s small - smaller than usual. the fence in front of him is taller than his head, but he’s gently moved backwards so that he can better see the empty cans on top of it. a bb gun is placed in his hands and a quiet, motherly voice shows him how to use it. firm, steady hands guide his aim, and there’s ting after ting as little metal balls glance off the tin cans. his hands begin to shake from the weight of the gun, and his mother - his_ **_mother_ ** _\- takes it away and tells him he did well._

he thanks sunny but he sells the gun to chet and buys a shovel and a machete instead.

there’s a securitron named victor that trudy says is the one who pulled him out of the shallow grave he’d been found in. trip talks to him but the robot doesn’t seem to have information about who killed him - _tried_ to kill him. there’s something off about the friendliness of victor, but maybe that’s just the head wound talking.

primm isn’t far, and supposedly his boss lives in primm. or something like that. doc thinks the fresh air will help his mind, and so trip shoulders his bag and goes.


	2. primm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's definitely not been a full week since th first chapter, but hey, a week between updates is jus t'keep myself on track. enjoy <3

there’s shooting as he walks up on primm. he sees the shape of men in the far distance west, and a sniper on the roof of a building nearby. then a man in uniform steps around a barrier set along the road and calls out to trip. “halt. what business do you have in primm?” the uniform is military, and trip recalls what the people of goodsprings told him about the new california republic.

“i’m a courier, a-nd i’m headed to primm o-n business.” he stands still, hands clutching the strap of his bag. “i have papers if y-ou need to see.”

the soldier nods, holding his hand out, and trip looks into the bag, pulling out the paperwork that listed his last job. the soldier looks through it and frowns. “this says you were assigned the job months ago. i thought mojave express was fast?” there’s a tinge of condescension in his voice, and he raises an eyebrow as he looks back at trip.

he swallows; he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to get into this. “there were… complications. a-n unexpected injury.” he turns his head to the side a little, pushing up his ball cap to show the fresh scarring on his temple. “i’ve been i-n goodsprings for those months. my e-mployer will want to know, may i pass through?”

“god damn.” the soldier leans closer, awe on his face. “shot in the head and you’re walkin’ and talkin’? strong man.” his eyes go up and down trip, like a double-take of his stature when confronted with the truth of his constitution. “sure, you can go through, but we’ll have to set up a sniper to watch your back. powder gangers have the townsfolk holed up in the vicki and vance casino.” he leans away again, gives the paperwork back, and radios the information, waving the courier on. “keep quiet, stick to the cover of buildings, and get in there quick as possible.” trip nods in thanks and puts the papers back in his bag, feet carefully navigating between the disarmed mines on what remains of the bridge.

the run-down buildings and broken neon signs do nothing to jog his memory. there’s the smallest twinge of frustration, struck down and buried as soon as he feels it; the memories will come. he turns a corner and there’s the front door. thank god. he tries it but it’s locked - not locked, actually, but barricaded, as he learns in the next second when the barrel of a gun is shoved in his face. he backs up immediately, shaking hands raised up. “who’re you?” a gruff voice asks. there’s a pause, where trip almost speaks, and then, “wait. trip? trip switch, the courier?” he nods, and the gun is put away, the door opened. “get in here, boy, before those gangsters show up.”

he does as told, entering the building. a group of three men put the barricade back in place and the one who’d had a gun in face offers his hand. “sorry about the gun, son. standard procedure since we been locked up in here. good to see you again.”

trip shakes his hand, a sheepish look on his face. “uhm, sorry, i… who a-re you? i lost a lot of time, recently. i don’t remember much.” he tilts his head to show the scarring again.

“oh, dear lord.” nash looks sad, and he puts a hand on trip’s shoulder. the touch makes his skin run cold and there’s a shiver he has to suppress. he hasn’t been much good with touch since he woke up. “come with me, son, i’ll answer any questions you have.” they go to the bar in the casino, and nash offers him alcohol, which he refuses, then nuka cola, which he again refuses, asking for sarsaparilla. trip pockets the bottle cap as nash starts to explain some things.

“a cowboy robot set up six deliveries through us. the first five went fine, packages delivered and payment received. but the sixth one, well, that was yours. they were all odd, considering - things like silver chess pieces. we couldn’t refuse the caps though. and the guy we almost hired, before you, he saw your name on the list and got this look on his face. his expression turned right around, asked me if your name was for real. i said, sure as lack of rain, you were still kickin’. then he turned it down, even after i mentioned it was good money. he said, ‘no, let  _ courier six _ carry the package’, like the mojave’d sort you out or something. then he just up and left. we got in touch with you and that was that.”

it’s a lot, all the information, and trip stares at the dark brown liquid sloshing in the dusty bottle in his hand. “i was i-ntercepted, then,” he says quietly, looking at nash for a moment before taking another sip. “someone knew where i was gonna be, a-nd they tried to kill me. now the package i-s gone.” tears well up in his eyes and he squeezes them shut, lowering his face onto his arm for a moment. shame fills his chest, and a sadness he can’t suppress. after a few deep breaths, he looks up again. nash is looking at him with pity, and trip clears his throat. “i know i-t doesn’t matter now, the package getting delivered, but i need a-nswers. some folks in goodsprings said a man i-n a checkered suit’s the one who shot me. sound familiar?”

nash squints, chin in hand as he considers. “well, coupl’a months back i do recall deputy beagle said somethin’ about a man in a daisy suit goin’ by with some khans. don’t remember him sayin’ much more than that, though.”

“can i talk to deputy beagle?”

“well, that’s the kicker.” nash leans forward, elbows on the counter as he regards trip. “the powder gangsters took him and got him locked up in the bison steve for a bounty. we woulda paid it, if we had the caps, but we don’t. if you can get him outta there, you can talk to him.” ah. violence.

the courier looks back at the bottle and finishes it off, then stands. “i’ll set y-our deputy free, then.” he nods to nash, who bids him be careful, and leaves the vicki and vance.

he tries to sneak, but there’s too many. the machete is crude, and not as sharp as it could be, and the first powder ganger who falls to his blade gurgles and cries out as he dies. the sound sticks in his head, plays in a dark part of his mind, and haunts him as he moves through the building. it scratches at something in the back of his mind, but he beats it down, tries to ignore it until he can get through.

but there’s so many powder gangers. by the time he gets to beagle, he’s a staggering, bloody mess, and it takes all his willpower to finesse cutting the deputy’s bonds with his machete. then he steps back and falls to his knees. faintly, he hears the other man say, “whoa, whoa there, are you alright, bud?” and then his vision blurs.

_ a man in red armor stands in front of him, holding a curved blade. gladius. the name of weapon is known to trip, but in his own hand there’s a machete. “why do i need to know this?” his voice rings out, quiet and higher than usual. _

_ “because there will be those who try to stop you, and you mustn’t let anyone stop you from doing what needs to be done, what you’ve been told to do. understand?” there’s a threat in the words, and the man in armor makes a motion with his arm. trip’s gaze goes to a young woman, who looks at him with pain in her eyes, a fresh red mark on her bare arm, and a limp in her step as she passes. the pack that weighs her down looks like it’s about to crush her. _

_ “i u-nderstand.” _

there’s a sharp sound and a sting in his cheek, and trip’s vision rights itself. his arm is being held tight by the deputy, who’s leaning over him looking vaguely concerned, mostly annoyed. “buddy, we gotta get outta here. no good hangin’ around dead bodies.” trip blinks and looks around, remembering what he came here to do. then he nods, and thankfully beagle lets go of his arm before he has to yank it away. he gets to his feet shakily, and the two take their leave of the bison steve.

beagle has little more to say than nash had already told him, but he does help a little bit. he tells trip that the group of khans and the man in the fancy suit were headed to the strip, and had to go up novac way, through nipton. he suggested the courier go that way too, and see if anyone in novac had more information for him. before he leaves, nash asks if he’d find someone to be sheriff. a glance at beagle makes the old man shrug and rub the back of his neck. “he ain’t much for leadin’, if i’m honest, so if you could stop by the mojave outpost, or get a former sheriff out of that prison camp up northeast, we’d be real appreciative.” trip agrees to find a replacement and heads down the highway, his feet turned south towards the mojave outpost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for readin! pls leave kudos n comments, they keep me goin <3

**Author's Note:**

> kudos n comments keep me goin. also sub t'th story if ya wanna keep updated, i'm gonna try t'get out a chapter a week, or somethin like that.


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